


we ain't born typical

by paxlux



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxlux/pseuds/paxlux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wind's out of the south and Cougar's restless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we ain't born typical

**Author's Note:**

> Written very quickly, I am so sorry.

The wind's out of the south and Cougar's restless. Jensen can tell. Cougar doesn't sigh or speak or move, really, but he's restless, yeah, Jensen can see it. They're in a safe house (that actually doesn't feel that safe, what else is new) and Cougar's testing his new scope after his last scope broke in an explosion, Jensen's still a little fuzzy on how that happened (concussion and all), all he knows is it wasn't his fault, so that's good. Bad that the scope broke, Cougar loved that scope, but good that Jensen didn't have a part in it. Not this time.

Cougar's got the rifle pointed out the window because this is a four floor walk up and he's got the height, the distance ("makes you feel homesick for your blind, doesn't it, Cougs," and Cougar sighed at Jensen, which means _sorta but don't tell anyone, pendejo, because that shit is messed up,_ ) and they're just killing time until the General arrives, two days, three tops, so Cougar's sighting at parrots or something in the trees, toucans maybe, Jensen mumbles, "’Follow your nose!’ Which makes no sense because that toucan has a beak, not a nose, unless he's just being nice to the human children he's kidnapping with the sweet scent of Froot Loops, 'I don't have a nose, kids, but you do, so follow your nose right into my dangerous lair where I'll eat you or hold you for ransom, now eat your cereal'," and Cougar's not sighting anything anymore, he's staring at Jensen from under his hat, like he doesn't have the thread of the conversation but he wants in.

And this is why Jensen likes Cougar: dude doesn't think Jensen's crazy or insane or lost his marbles, doesn't think he's some sort of idiot savant who'll shoot his toes off or some such nonsense shit, nah, Cougar seems to enjoy Jensen's flights of random fancy, maybe they color his world or balance his own crazy, whatever, Jensen is pathetically grateful, but he'll break Cougar's scope on purpose before telling him any of that.

Cougar raises an eyebrow and he's still restless, fingers a little too tight on the rifle, his left shoulder shifted a bit too far against the window sill, the wind's from the south, catching the ends of his hair under the brim.

"Made myself crave Froot Loops," Jensen says and Cougar says, "Tacos," and Jensen gets it, it's about the craving, not the food per se.

"Yeah, that sounds good too. Think I saw a taco truck earlier. Five blocks south. Maybe it's still there?"

Cougar nods and they're on their feet, shuffling around because Cougar was in the window and Jensen was on the bed under the window with his feet up against Cougar's legs, and the room is tiny, they kind of have to climb around and over each other, so Jensen keeps his hands to himself, his hero worship and love have a best-friends-until-one-of-us-dies type level, but there's a deeper level too, big and greedy, real boss battle level stuff Jensen fights with on a daily basis. He isn't about to lose his best friend, to bullets or knives or explosives or unrequited love.

However. This is not some shitty romance novel with a military wallpaper, no sir. His sister would kick his ass, "Jake Jensen, you are neither a bosomy swooning maiden nor a chesty roguish scoundrel on horseback, feet on the ground, eyes on the horizon, get your act together, reach for the stars," never mind, that got _way_ out of hand. The long and short of it is he's not pining and swooning and aching manfully for love gone unnoticed, he's Jake fucking Jensen, best friend and baptized-in-war-and-blood brother of Cougar fucking Alvarez. Or Carlos when the military is being weirdly formal. Like during debriefs and suchlike.

Roque and Clay skipped merrily off to collect last minute supplies and bitterly, Cougar muttered, 'Tequila,' and Jensen chipped in, 'Sure as shit, Sergeant, off to drink a whole bar dry while we sit around doing something, what're we doing tonight, sugar bear,' and Cougar shrugged as Jensen said, 'Ah, the fire in the relationship, Cougs, it is gone,' so Cougar offered him a lighter with a smirk. Pooch is behind the safe house in a falling-down garage, rebuilding an engine, 'for fun or profit,' Jensen asked and Pooch grinned that grin Jensen emails Jolene about, 'your husband is psychotic and gives me nightmares' (and she replies, 'but he's so damn cute' and Jensen sighs in exasperation, 'you two are made for each other, it makes me sick').

So they tell Pooch they'll get him an obscene amount of tacos and he yells, "What tacos," from underneath a rusted van and that's all the answer Jensen needs.

He's got a gun in his waistband under his shirt and a knife in his boot and Cougar beside him, looking lanky and handsome and cool as if he isn't armed to the teeth, hat tilted up a little to listen to Jensen's joke about a rubber chicken and a pulley.

The sun's cooling off, late afternoon, their shadows long and the sign of the convenience store hums, Portuguese in faded black letters.

The taco truck is still there and they almost buy out the rest of their food, "who needs tequila, we've got tacos and something that looks like churros," Jensen crows, balancing greasy bags, he tests one of the possible churros and it’s a churro and Cougar grins at him, half in shadow, Jensen sees his eyes and his teeth.

As they walk back, Cougar nudges him towards the convenience store. "Hot sauce?" Jensen guesses, but he's wrong. Cougar wants a brand new deck of cards, animals of the rainforest on the face cards, and Jensen whistles with joy.

"Tacos, churros, and war, oh my!"

Sadly, and much to Clay's eternal consternation, they've become addicted to war, playing it first while Jensen had some data mining downtime and Cougar wasn't needed to shoot anybody, it was a rare overlap of time, but it happened, a diamond shining moment. They play war any time they've got a minute and Cougar started collecting decks wherever they go, souvenirs, sometimes they lose cards under shady circumstances, there's a queen of diamonds in Lebanon, a seven of hearts and nine of diamonds and all four fives in Guam, a whole suit of clubs in Guatemala, and half a deck was destroyed in France, don't ask.

Sometimes they play with more than one deck, those games are epic, true sagas to be talked about around a campfire by their ancestors, though Roque waves knives at them, stop playing, someone's shooting at us, you dumb pieces of shit.

Like Jensen said, those games are epic. Not even gunfire finishes those.

From an alley, a woman calls out to them in Portuguese, long skirt and heavy bracelets on her wrists, cigarette between her fingers, and Cougar replies in Spanish. Jensen keeps walking, peeling the plastic off the box of cards. It sounds like a debate or a warning, not a proposition, Jensen doesn't judge, not one iota, his job is highly questionable at best, highly deadly at worst, he doesn't judge, just digs the rest of the churro out of the bag and bites into the crispy sugar dough.

Soon enough, Cougar's back at his side, hat pulled low this time, Jensen is a bit antsy since he can't see Cougar's face, "She says some men are coming, we should get off the street."

"Men? Armed men? With large guns and anger management problems?"

Cougar smirks. " _Posible_." His smirk deepens. "She was worried about you."

"Me? Really? My impossible good looks causing trouble already?"

" _Idiota_ , you don't look like a native," Cougar says diplomatically.

"A gringo," Jensen suggests, then rolls his eyes. "A _cabrón._ "

"American," Cougar corrects with that smirk.

"I stand out like a Statue of Liberty fireworks display."

Cougar waves a hand side to side, _yeah, pretty much_.

Jensen does a quick dance step. "Guess we better hotfoot it then."

But they don’t, they take their time, eating out of the bag with their fingers and Jensen almost drops a taco on the street and the wind is from the south, blowing in their faces, sweet like flowers and tobacco.

It’s in these moments, Cougar’s arm shifting against his, their boots in sync, a nice humid day in some country most people only know of from maps, the smell of tacos and cinnamon sugar and the exhaust from the crooked little truck carrying vegetables, it’s in these moments, Jensen’s found his place in the world, gun at his back, knife in his boot and Cougar has razorblades in his hair. 

They get to the house and spread their feast around the cramped kitchen, they eat standing because the table is going to be for their card game. It follows that one of them has to declare war on the other, that’s just the rules, that’s the ritual, so when Pooch appears and says, “Hey, tacos, oh man, _yeah_ ,” Jensen uses him as a witness and trips Cougar.

Cougar smirks, but hides it fast, with Cougar you got to catch these things like bullets or you miss them, Cougar smirks and pushes into Jensen’s face, silent steady intimidation.

“War,” Cougar says and Pooch’s eyebrows go up behind a taco, he says around it, “Really, again, I mean _again_ , don’t you guys get tired of—“

“Accepted,” Jensen says because Cougar doesn’t just declare war, he pronounces the word like it’s the end-all, be-all, every card game they’ve had or will ever have. 

Pooch shrugs, grabs another taco. “Whatever.” He grabs two more tacos and carries his bundle into the other room. “Hey, I’m gonna—“

“Yeah, no problem. It’s ready.” 

Jensen gave (yes, _gave_ , he’s magnanimous and amazingly awesome like that) the other Losers a laptop of their own, one he doesn’t care quite so much about so they can do whatever, he seriously doesn’t want to know what they use it for, Pooch mostly chats and occasionally Skypes with Jolene, but Clay and Roque, well, Jensen prefers plausible deniability. 

(Cougar uses one of Jensen’s main computers to check soccer scores and a few news headlines and other things Jensen doesn’t snoop about, Cougar doesn’t use the other computer because he’s Cougar and Jensen doesn’t think about that, just focuses on fanning the cards a few times.) 

The chairs scrape on the wavy linoleum and the table’s a little uneven, but Cougar gets settled and Jensen doesn’t watch the delicious hazard of the line of his body, he pays attention to the cards, bridging them, shuffle bridge shuffle bridge, to break some of the newness. 

Cougar’s restless, keeping his cards held in a tight deck between his hands, his jaw shifting a bit, and it’s feeding into Jensen, he’s restless too, bouncing his knee, it’s like waiting for something, their days are nothing but waiting most of the time, hell, Cougar’s a sniper, his whole job is to wait and yes, shoot someone, but it’s the waiting, they’re used to waiting, they’re good at waiting, they are kings at waiting, but Jensen’s bouncing his knee, rotating the cards in his fingers. Then Cougar hooks Jensen’s ankle with his foot and it’s a closed circuit, Jensen stops bouncing. 

He breathes. 

They play with concentration and intensity and Jensen talks like usual, why not, he’s got questions, he’s a curious fellow, some things in the world need deep philosophical scrutiny and hey, the world is a strange, messed up, _really strange_ place, so he learns all kinds of trivia, random trivia, occasionally not even remotely connected, and he likes to share, he is in the information industry, he collects and shares what he’s learned, other people should know about the narwhal and what that horn really is. 

“It’s a tooth, dude, seriously, a canine growing right out of it’s head, _beeeeooooo_ ,” he draws an invisible horn from his forehead, careful not to flash his cards, then Cougar smacks down a three on Jensen’s three, and that’s it, war, they’re dealing out, Cougar without ceremony, one two three cards, then flips the last one, but Jensen draws out the tension, flicking each card, one, two, three, then turns over the last one very very _very_ slowly and dammit all to hell, Cougar wins with a king. 

“Bastard.” 

Cougar grins, big as anything, that last explosion at the munitions dump, it was spectacular and noisy and Jensen felt the heat of it, sweated from it, and he feels the heat from Cougar’s smile, he pushes the cards at Cougar and leans across the table to kiss him. 

It’s brief and chaste and Jensen thinks, Oh. 

Then he sits back down and thinks, Oh my God. 

He’s just kissed a dangerous man, his best friend, and he’s known this job would most likely kill him, you’d think it would be violent and with a weapon of some sort, Cougar’s deadly and vicious when trifled with, but now Jensen thinks he’ll merely die of mortification. 

And that’s okay, it’s in these moments of surprise embarrassment, Jensen’s found his place in the world. 

Cougar’s completely still, utterly, Jensen’s pretty sure he’s slowed his heart or something badass like that, then the restlessness evaporates into the humidity, his hands relaxing on the scattered cards on the table. 

He waves at Jensen, _come back_ , that grin in full force again, a little sly now, “Jake,” he says. 

“What.” 

Cougar kisses him, almost knocks over the table and they just bought those cards, they can’t lose some of them now, _what_ , he’s being kissed by Cougar, his favorite person in the universe, Jensen, _get with the program_ , he kisses back as if he’s dying (and oh, those moments will come, he knows), he kisses back with a gun against his spine and a knife in his boot and Cougar comes around to straddle him, that might be a scope in his pocket or maybe Cougar’s feeling frisky, Jensen’s the lucky sonuvabitch that gets to find out, _so fucking lucky_. 

“General coming down the street, _now_ , we’re jumpstarting this mission very fucking early—uhhhh,” Clay bursts into the kitchen as the rumble of trucks breaks the quiet, loud like earthquakes, and Roque says, “Holy shit, well, I’m not asking a single thing, either of you whines or starts reciting poetry, I will leave you in the jungle. Let’s grab our gear, and move, _right fucking now_ ,” and Pooch calls out, “Are there more tacos.” 

Jensen runs his hands along Cougar’s sides, smiling, there’s parrots and monkeys trapped against Cougar’s shirt, all four jacks and a queen, “Men are coming. Bad men. Who need shooting.” 

Nodding, the hat brushes at Jensen’s hair, Cougar shifts a little in his grasp and Jensen likes that, however, very stealthy hell is breaking loose around them, semiautomatics and grenades in full view and Cougar needs to get to his rifle, so Jensen squeezes him and Cougar says something against his jaw, _mi corazón_ , and men are shouting in the street, ordering people to vacate, the General stalking into a building down the block for a meeting they are there to kindly interrupt, so he lets go and Cougar climbs back. 

The exceedingly dangerous man who holds Jensen’s heart in his hands smiles at him, raises an eyebrow as he adjusts his jeans, and that _was_ a scope in his pocket, but Jensen’s not disappointed. Cougar heads for the bedroom for his rifle and Jensen stage whispers, “We are continuing this conversation later,” and Pooch groans from the other room, clinking keys and wrenches, “Dear God in heaven, I need ear plugs, please no, the torture, _the torture_.” 

“I’m gonna tell Jolene you hate romance,” Jensen informs Pooch and Pooch flips him off, double for good measure. 

But it’s a good day, the wind’s from the south and Jensen finds all the cards in between testing the recording equipment and Cougar perches at the window, rifle ready, someone will die today and this is where Jensen belongs. 

Cougar winks and Jensen flicks a card at him, a jaguar (close enough), the king of hearts. 

**Author's Note:**

> Another gift. :) Title from "URA Fever" by The Kills.


End file.
